Similiarmus
by ignorant-loquacity
Summary: Harry is in a potions lesson when there's a slight accident. Much confusion follows. (Or will do, when I get round to writing the rest!)
1. Default Chapter

DISCALIMER- I do not own any of the characters etc.

**Similiarmus **

"I want 3 rolls of parchment on the properties, uses and hazards of the potion you have just made on my desk by monday," the deep voice growled menacingly. "In case those Gryffindors among us haven't yet mastered the days of the week, that is 6 days from now." The black-cloaked figure slowly swivelled to face one student in particular. "We don't want a repeat of last week, _do_ we Mr Thornton?" The scrawny third year, his hands still blistered from washing every cauldron in the dungeon (he hadn't handed in his homework, but how could he when one of the Slytherins had set it on fire, then tipped the ashes onto his head?) gulped and shook his head nervously. "Class dismissed" he called abruptly, and the entire class rushed to the door, silently thankful that they'd survived another potions class with that scary, greasy, bat-like professor Snape.

Snape sighed, brushing a strand of his midnight hair behind his ear. Third years had no patience, no appreciation of the subtle art of potions making. They were more interested in the cheap thrills of charms and, he grimaced, divination. His long, slender fingers delicately explored the area of his forehead which had been struck by a beaker when a first year's potion had exploded, propelling objects around the dungeons. That first lesson of the day seemed years ago now, yet the headache remained. Snape decided to take his anger, not quite fully vented on the aforementioned student, out on his last class: sixth year Slytherins and Gryffindors. "Perfect", he muttered evilly, and flicked through the textbook looking for the hardest possible potion to set them.

10 minutes later Harry Potter was sitting at his desk, determinedly not looking at Snape, who had numerous reasons to hate him, not least that he'd caught Harry looking through his most private memories last year. "Turn to page 467," came the hiss from the front, "today you will have one hour to prepare the 'deletris pulex' potion, any questions?" Snape's tone of voice made Harry look up, it was ominously gleeful. Snape's obsidian glare surveyed the room, obviously ignoring Hermione's hand waving in the air. "Very well, you may begin." Hermione, furious, whispered to Harry, "I want to know why we're doing this, we're not supposed to make this potion until next year!" before busying herself with ingredients. She may have been angry with Snape, Harry mused, but she was still eager to prove herself worthy of the challenge.

Three-quarters of an hour later, the reason for Snape's choice of potion had become abundantly clear: not only was the flea-removing potion fiendishly difficult to prepare (Harry had cut himself attempting to slice his willow bark into identically sized polygons) but it also smelt worse than Ron's quidditch kit bag. The entire class choked on the fumes as Snape stalked happily around the classroom, making snide comments about the quality of their work. Harry was prevented from wondering how the potions master seemed to be impervious to the odour by Neville's cauldron, which was making odd gurgling sounds. Distracted by the commotion caused by Snape shouting at his terrified friend, he failed to notice Draco Malfoy levitating a beaker full of bubotuber pus out of the student supply cabinet and directly towards his head. Realisation dawning at the last minute, Harry threw himself under the table, and the beaker (which had skimmed the top of his hair) made a neat landing: right in the middle of Harry's potion.

Silence descended on the classroom, as the whole class turned from Neville (who was nervously waiting for Snape to come back from his office with the book on elementary potions he was making him read as a punishment), to the smirking Draco, then to Harry, who was still under the desk. Approximately 3.4 seconds passed, and then Harry's cauldron blew up. The tawny coloured liquid, hurled through the air by the explosion, covered the entire class (bar Harry, safely ensconced under the table) from head to foot. Snape opened the door of his office, his best scowl plastered onto his face, ready to accost the perpetrator. Greeted with nothing but a thick haze of grey smoke, the scowl quickly changed to an expression of shock, and then one of pure rage.

Striding through the haze, he grabbed the first student he fell across. "Potter!" he spat, "what is the meaning of this?"

"But, s..s..sir, H..Harry's over th..there", stuttered the student, gesturing further into the gloom. "Very funny, Potter! 50 points from Gryffindor for you cheek, and it'll another 1,000 when I work out what THE HELL YOU DID TO MY DUNGEON!" Seeing the boy mumbling something else, but not really hearing throught the red mist of anger that had descended, he thrust the student aside. Drawing his wand he cried "Purgo!" and watched avidly as his spell cleared the smoke- hoping Potter had finally caused enough damage to get him expelled.

Unfortunately, what Snape did see only brought back his headache with a vengeance. The dungeons themselves were unharmed: the only actual damage seemed to have been done to a cauldron, which was lying in fragments on several desks. The main problem lay with the students, who were milling around the room with expressions of amusement, confusion or horror on their faces. Or should that be 'face', singular? Snape contemplated this problem for a while, every other part of his brain rendered unconscious by the scene in front of him. For what he was staring at, with his mouth wide open and a vein throbbing in his temple, was an entire classroom of Harry Potters. Six years of utter hatred for the boy who had crossed him more times than he cared to remember welled up inside of him and forced itself out through his mouth.

Many floors above, Albus Dumbledore sat in his office listening to the raw, guttural, interminable scream that could only have come from Severus Snape and mildly wondered what all of the fuss was about.

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Ok, this is my first fic, so please review- even if its just to tell me i should never write anything again! If anyone likes it I'll probably be writing some new chapters soon- should be fun with all the Harry's running around! (There might be slight snarry later- to be honest I haven't decided!)


	2. Troubles Multiplied

DISCLAIMER- the usual stuff applies

A small part of Severus Snape knew that it was the potion that had somehow pasted Harry's likeness onto a dozen people, and could probably be reversed. However, most of him (the really, really angry part) chose to interpret it as a sign that someone on high really, really hated him. After his outburst the Harry's had taken their seats, having the decency to look terrified. He stalked around them, those carbon copies of that brat Potter, an almost palpable sense of fear radiating off them. If Snape -turncoat and spy for the forces of good- hadn't been so good at hiding his emotions, he would have currently been hugging his knees in a dark corner, rocking from side to side muttering a word that rhymed with 'otter', or possibly embarking on a murderous rampage of some kind. Having reached the front of the classroom he was confronted with row upon row of the same face; a sea of disorderly brown hair, a plethora of angry scars above idiotic grins, a myriad of myopic green... wait! That was it!

Snape silently congratulated himself, yes, the potion had made everyone in the class look identical, but it hadn't reproduced inanimate objects particular to Harry; which was why half the class was wearing Slytherin uniform and why the culprit, that irritating, stupid, soon-to-be-ex-pupil was the _only one wearing glasses_.

Anger, hatred, and what was possibly his lunch welled up inside of him as he strode menacingly towards the boy. Harry, who had been enjoying his unusual anonymity, shrank visibly in his seat. However, with Snape just inches away from him he suddenly looked towards the door and grinned. This expression, so rarely seen in the dungeons, baffled the potions master to such an extent that -mid-swoop- he spun around to discover the origin of the boy's grin, tripped on his long cloak and fell with a thud onto Harry's desk.

Snape immediately leapt up, glaring at the Harrys (who were all suppressing giggles) and trying immensely hard not to rub the offended area. Cursing under his breath he finally turned to confront the intruder, and was caught like a rabbit in the bright blue twinkly headlights that passed for Dumbledore's eyes.

"Good afternoon, Severus. May I assume that you require assistance?" Albus said, standing majestically in the door frame and surveying the classroom.

What may have been a growl escaped Snape's lips, before he grudgingly gestured for the headmaster to do what he pleased. Dumbledore stood at the front of the classroom, unerringly winking at the real Harry Potter before casting a number of complex spells over the pupils. After an unproductive five minutes he had made no progress (a fact which would have amused Snape considerably- if he hadn't been contemplating Lucius Malfoy's reaction to the news that his beloved son now looked like his master's archenemy, not to mention the fact that he was about 6 inches shorter) although a rather interesting purple raincloud was now floating around the dungeons.

At last Dumbledore admitted defeat. "Severus", he said quietly, "we will need to keep everyone together until a way of reversing this is found. I hardly need warn you of the chaos that could be caused if we simply allowed them to go back to their houses." Snape nodded his assent, wondering momentarily at the use of the word 'we', before the headmaster continued.

"I suggest that we take them to the room of requirement, where I am sure we will find ample lodgings for the students and yourself until this business is concluded."

"_Myself_, headmaster?" Snape spoke in an undertone, a degree of uncertainty in his voice.

"I need you to look after them Severus", Dumbledore said, his voice lightening as he added "perhaps you could use the time together to teach Harry occlumency again?"

"WHICH BLOODY ONE???" roared Snape, his patience having snapped.

"Now Severus, calm down. May I remind you that we are supposed to be promoting unity in the school? Now that we are on the brink of open war, I do not want you harbouring petty grudges against students. I shall consider this a test of your loyalty, Severus."

The tone of Albus' voice immediately told Snape there was no way out, but he still clutched at straws like a slice of bitter lemon drowning in coca-cola.

"What about my classes? I cannot spare the necessary time, headmaster." Snape made his tone respectful, hiding his anger well.

"You will teach classes as normal, all I require is that you look after them out of school hours. When the class have a lesson they will be escorted from their room to the relevant classroom and back again by their subject teacher."

Snape gave up, he could see that it was inescapable- prolonging the argument was likely to lead to his being made to do even worse tasks, like giving them individual sponge baths or something equally humiliating.

Dumbledore stepped forward to convey the arrangement to the class, who took it with something less than enthusiasm. Meanwhile Snape lingered in the background, looking deeply unhappy- whilst in some kind of pathetic fallacy the purple cloud hovered over his head and with sudden torrent of (surprisingly normal) rain soaked the potions master.

One drying spell, a very long torrent of inventive cursewords and a roomful of laughing Harry Potters (plus twinkling headmaster) later, Snape was herding the class along a corridor and towards the room of requirement. Whilst Dumbledore checked that everything inside was in place, Snape looked over his flock and was surprised to find that he was noticing differences between them. For example, there was a one Potter who was whimpering slightly and nervously glancing at him, undoubtedly that fool Longbottom, and he could tell the girls apart from the boys by the way in which the former kept surreptitiously examining certain parts of their bodies, contemplating a rather unusual future ahead of them.

At last the group was able to make their way inside the room, which consisted of two sections, the nearest of which was a makeshift common room with comfy armchairs grouped around a log fire. There was a large dormitory to the back, with the standard Hogwarts four poster beds, each one shielded with red velvet curtains. How _Gryffindor_, he mused venomously. Snape didn't even cheer up when he discovered that the adjacent bathroom had been decorated in Slytherin green.

That night, after Dumbledore had settled them in (and locked them in, more to the point) they had eaten dinner conjured from the kitchen by house elves and the Harry's had settled around the room to talk. Snape however, whose vindictive side was aching to be let out, had sent them straight to bed and forbidden them to talk. Lying in the bed he had chosen (in the furthest corner- as far away from anyone else as possible) he savoured the silence and reflected that he may survive the ordeal if he could scare them into submission, a tactic in which he had plenty of expertise. He also took care to move Potter and Dumbledore to higher priority slots on his mental list of People Who Would Live To Regret Their Insolence.

Hours later his brief mood of contentment had vanished completely, as a dozen Harry Potters (_in revenge perhaps?_) kept him awake with a deafening chorus of snores.

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Hi. Thanks to people who reviewed last time! :) I hope this chapter isn't too dull, I needed to establish a bit more of the plot first. Anyway, please tell me what you think!


	3. Sweet Dreams

DISCLAIMER- the usual stuff applies

Severus Snape found himself standing in the middle of the Quidditch pitch and immediately surmised that he was dreaming. He was able to arrive at this conclusion based on the fact that **a**) he hardly ever walked here, and **b**) when he did it was _never_ in his pyjamas. (Even though they were made of the finest black silk, and had gold teddy bears on the cuffs.) It appeared to be a bright, sunny day and Snape mused contentedly that there were far worse places he could have been dreaming about. (He still had trouble walking into the staff-room after that unfortunate dream about the staff meeting, in which he had been naked and everyone had laughed. And then Trelawney had- well, it didn't bear thinking about.) Reclining on the soft grass he gazed up at the horizon, marking the progress of a flock of birds that was zooming his way in an unusual formation. Shading his eyes from the sun, he discerned that they spelled out the letters 'HP'. Bewilderment quickly turned to horror and he tried to scramble away across the grass. The potions master stumbled and fell on his face as the 'flock' landed in a circle around him. Looking up from the ground, he spat out a mouthful of grass and gaped open-mouthed at the ring of Harrys, who began skipping in a circle and singing 'ring around the roses'. Looking past them he saw even more of the grinning monsters flying in.

Trapped in the torments of his nightmare, Snape thrashed around in his bed and entangled himself in the sheets. Finally, when the dream-Harrys had started to shower him with flowers, he gave a particularly desperate twist to his left and fell out of bed. Grimacing at the pain from his landing, particularly in the area injured from yesterday's encounter with a desk, he opened his eyes. And saw a crowd of Harrys staring at him.

"What's the matter, professor?" squeaked one of them, eying him in concern.

Snape blinked, hoping that they were some kind of optical illusion. When they failed to disappear, he groaned and sat up quickly, hoping to scatter them with sheer violence of motion. This proved to be a serious mistake, as on the way up his head connected with that of a Harry and sent waves of pain through his skull. It wasn't _the_ Harry, of that much Snape was certain before his mind succumbed to the pain, at least that boy had reflexes. Deciding that his situation wasn't suddenly about to improve (at least not before he found his wand) he stood up shakily, knocking Harrys backwards as he rose. He gave them his best glare (the one that he had spent hours practicing in the mirror) and was taken aback when several remained before him.

"Sir?" one of them spoke tentatively, moving towards him slightly.

'Oh, _no_' thought Snape, realisation hitting him like a grand piano in a muggle cartoon. The Harrys left before him were all girls, or had been. It was definitely too early for this.

"Yes, Miss Granger, is it?" he sighed.

The boy's face took on a girlish expression of surprise, and he/she replied

"Yes, sir. Erm.... er.....we....we needed to talk to you about something."

"Proceed", Snape groaned, shutting his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose between index finger and thumb.

"Well", continued Hermione in a low voice, "since yesterday we've been experiencing some difficulties, both mentally and..erm... technically."

"Enough!" cried Snape, panicking. He'd thought he could take this in his stride, but a sudden awareness of the fact that his nightmares could get _considerably_ worse led him to summon Madame Pomfrey instead.

As the 'girls' were led away for an extremely educational talk, Snape snickered to himself at the thought of ruining Poppy's breakfast, changed into robes and headed to the common room to salvage some food. After commandeering toast and coffee from the noisy room (he was getting sick of overhearing conversations that were peppered with the phrase "I'm sorry, who are you?") he decided to sit quietly on his bed with the curtains drawn until Flitwick arrived to cart the Harrys off to charms. He mused that he had survived years dealing with Lord 'psycho' Voldemort and _this_ was what brought him to the edge of his sanity.

The students in Snape's first lesson of the day were unhappy to learn that they would be writing an essay, but their teacher rejoiced in the organised silence- and the fact that he could look at his pupil's faces without feeling the urge to throw himself from the astronomy tower. On the other side of the castle, the tiny charms professor was having a similarly serene experience. Unfortunately, in his case it was because he had been knocked out by a charms textbook that was accidentally aimed his way. Flitwick had taught the students the opposite of the summoning charm, one that essentially threw objects at whoever you aimed them at. (This was in fact a vital charm for the NEWTs, although no-one could really figure out why.) The students were supposed to be practicing with cushions, but every so often a Harry (who was undoubtedly Neville, by the level of his squeaking) flew overhead and hit two more Harrys who seemed to take up much more space than all of the others. The real Harry, observing the scene whilst chatting to Ron and a slightly less innocent Hermione, shuddered to think of how much food Crabbe and Goyle had eaten already. He wasn't particularly fond of the idea that he would have to look at chubby, bloated versions of himself, and was experiencing something akin to the feeling you get when you walk out of a shop and see that some idiot's run their keys along the side of your car. Looking for the source of Neville's airborne adventures, he saw himself standing alone on the other side of the room, looking around contemptuously. He instantly understood that this was Malfoy, from the haughty way that the boy conducted himself (even without his extra height he was imposing) and the fact that his features seemed slightly meaner and more drawn. Harry was musing, 'so that's what I'd look like if I was an evil git', when Draco turned and looked directly at him, raising an eyebrow. Harry started, making a quick (slightly disturbing) mental note that that was actually quite an attractive expression on himself, before glaring at the Slytherin.

After Malfoy had turned away disdainfully, Harry returned to the conversation.

"Well, apart from being a bit too short, I'm sort of enjoying being famous for a while" confessed Ron, looking at the others. "How about you, 'Mione?"

"Oh, it's been terrible!" the girl/boy exclaimed. "No offence Harry, but this is really too strange. What kind of potion do you think did it though? I mean, I've never read about anything like it! Apart from polyjuice of course, but it doesn't compare..." Hermione trailed off breathlessly, causing Ron to roll his eyebrows at Harry.

"What about you Harry, how does it feel to have everyone look like you?"

"Well, actually, I....... Protego!!" Harry stood up in the middle of his sentence in order to stop the flying Neville from doing serious damage to his friends.

"Malfoy", he muttered darkly, as he spotted the boy laughing at him. "Right.." Harry looked at Neville, who had made a hard landing on a desk in front of them. Neville, who had not recognised him and misread Harry's intention, whimpered

"Please, not again."

"Don't worry, Neville" he spoke gently "I just need to borrow that desk you're lying on." Neville slid off hastily and Harry uttered the spell to throw it at Draco. When nothing happened, he looked instinctively at Hermione, who shook his head and said

"No good, Harry, they're bolted to the floor. Besides, professor Flitwick said..." Harry stopped listening as another idea entered his mind. Turning to his other side he whispered "throw me" nodding at Draco.

"What?!?"

"Quick, throw me at Malfoy! Or I'll throw you instead..."

Ron cast the 'abicio' charm and watched with both glee and worry as his friend sailed across the room to hit Malfoy squarely in the chest. Harry decided that the slight injuries were definitely worth it for the look on Draco's face, even if the face technically was his own.

Before the Slytherin had had time to do much more than disentangle himself from the other boy, the bell rang and the new DADA professor arrived to collect them for their lesson, tactfully stepping over Flitwick's motionless body as he did so.

Later, the Harrys returned to the room of requirement for lunch, grumbling about the boring lesson they had just endured.

"He didn't have to spend the _whole_ lesson trying to find out what was wrong with us"

"What was that last spell meant to do, anyway? Is my nose supposed to hurt like this?"

"Shut up, idiot. As if there's any worse pain possible than being made to resemble _Potter_."

The group walked into their room to discover that Snape had transfigured several sofas into a long dining table. The potions master was looking forward to a lunch that would be kept quiet under his watchful eye, having regained his composure sometime during the morning (and subsequently celebrated by docking 25 points from a Gryffindor for nothing in particular). It was, in fact, a very peaceful lunch, perhaps because the Harrys were disturbed by the sight of Snape smiling to himself occasionally at the memory of the innocent student's face. With lunch demolished and 15 minutes until the afternoon lesson, the students dispersed to the remaining armchairs to talk, or in Malfoy's case, plot.

"Pot-" Snape's composure momentarily slipped, before he continued "_Students, _kindly limit your conversation to either Smith's book on the uses of wolfsbane, or the latest edition of 'Antique Cauldrons Quarterly', else I shall be forced to put you in detention. I trust that no-one has any objections to these topics?"

No one dared speak, and the students settled into a bemused silence, powerless to say anything. Snape strolled between groups of pupils, frowning at them if they looked to be about to speak. The potions master allowed himself a satisfied smile at the enforced silence and the glares he could sense all around him. Things, it seemed, were back to normal.

Some minutes later, Snape answered a knock at the door, which transpired to be from professors Trelawney and Vector. Grimacing at the recollection of his staff-room dream, he turned back to the students and announced the start of their next lesson.

"Those for Arithmancy, follow professor Vector. Those for Divination (here he permitted himself a small laugh), go the other way. Anyone who has neither of these must pick one to attend temporarily as I have no time to supervise you."

Thus Harry, Ron and most of the students ended up in the overheated, stuffy Divinations classroom, being bored to tears by Trelawney's lecture on visions in candle-flames. Harry began to drift off into sleep, reasoning that he could hardly be missing anything as he had given up the subject last year. However, on hearing Trelawney break off her speech to mutter

"Ah, Harry Potter, I knew that you would return. I foresee terrible things in your future, my dear", Harry opened his eyes indignantly. His annoyance quickly turned to amusement, though, as he realised that she was talking to someone else.

"Er, I'm not Harry."

"Now, my dear, don't try to fool one with the Sight. I knew you were Harry from the moment I saw you, and you really must remember to stay inside on the night that Jupiter's moons are in alignment." Trelawney gazed worriedly at the boy for a moment, before pinching his cheek fondly and moving on.

That afternoon, Harry had the best Divination lesson of his life as she continued to divine dire events for the other person, despite their protestations. At one point he had to fake a coughing fit to mask his laughter when she addressed him as Lavender, and predicted that he would find his ideal boyfriend before the next full moon.

Harry left the lesson in a rare good mood, which lasted until he arrived back in the common room to discover Snape happily maintaining the same conditions for conversation that had existed at lunch. The Arithmancy students had arrived early and had grabbed the best armchairs, so Ron and Harry sat uncomfortably on the floor. A mutinous look was present on every face, and after 15 minutes Ron had become sufficiently emboldened by the air of dissent to whisper to Harry;

"Well, I think _Smith _is a greasy git with control issues." Grasping his friend's meaning, Harry grinned and nodded. Unfortunately, years of teaching had honed Snape's ears to bat-like precision, and he immediately swept over to where they sat, lowering his face to the level of Ron's.

"What an interesting viewpoint", he said menacingly. "Perhaps after dinner you can write me an essay expanding you theory, Mr Weasley."

Snape smirked at Weasley's shocked expression at his discovery. When Poppy had visited this morning, she had performed a temporary charm to correct the Harrys' eyesight, but had conveniently left the real one with his glasses. (Which surprisingly few people had noticed.) It didn't take a genius to deduct whom the brat would be sitting next to, although from the boy's expression it was clear he believed that Snape could actually read minds. The potions master had always enjoyed cultivating that belief, as it made his job of terrorising the students so much easier.

By the time they were seating themselves for the dinner, the students had grown fairly hostile towards Snape, and even the Slytherins resented his announcement that they would spend 3 hours doing homework in silence, before going to bed early. The atmosphere around the table was fairly tense, as each student was wondering how much longer this oppression would last.

The answer was, in fact, 3 minutes and 42 seconds. Draco, still (literally) smarting from the incident in Charms, decided that the easiest way to avenge himself was to throw a large amount of mashed potato at Harry's head, which he did with admirable skill. Before Snape could intervene, Ron had retaliated with a volley of peas that bounced off Crabbe and Goyle like hailstones from a rock.

"Gotcha!" He yelled exuberantly, and, freed from silence by the shout, the table erupted into a noisy food fight. The air was suddenly swarming with a variety of nourishing food, and Snape was forced to duck a sausage and several heads of broccoli before he could leap to his feet and shout

"QUIET!" in a voice that could have been heard in Hogsmeade.

The effect was instantaneous, and so it was that a dozen, absolutely silent students watched a late-fired apple soar above the table and hit the professor on the temple. Like a tree felled in the mountains, like a building brought down by explosives, like Hagrid after too much firewhisky, Severus Snape stood still for a second and then collapsed in a heap on the floor. Those nearest him checked his breathing and pronounced him unconscious, which provoked several smiles from around the table. There was a fierce discussion about what to do next, and as not even Hermione was in favour of waking him up and incurring his wrath, it was decided to move the debris onto its bed. With any luck, they thought, he'll wake up tomorrow and think it was a dream.

Taking the initiative, Harry had used 'mobilicorpus' and walked out of the common room, manoeuvring the potions master towards his bed (thinking: 'I am _not_ putting him in his pyjamas) when he sensed someone behind him. Turning around, he came face to face with Dumbledore, who had an unreadable expression on his face.

"Professor, I..."

"Not to worry, Harry, I know that this was not your fault. Go back into other room, I'd hate for you to miss your pudding. I will take care of Severus" he said, nodding towards the man draped across the floor, where he had landed when Harry's spell had broken. "Oh, and I believe professor Flitwick would like you all to practice the charm you learnt today. I understand that more...accuracy... is required."

Grinning, Harry left the headmaster alone with Snape in the dormitory section.

'Hmm', mused the old man, a glint in his eye. 'It's been a while since I practiced that charm myself.' Drawing his wand, he located Severus' bed, opened the curtains magically and softly muttered "abicio Severus" so that no one else could hear. Tracing an arc through the air, robes billowing, the oblivious potions master made a perfect landing on his duvet.

'Not bad', thought Dumbledore, as he walked away, leaving Snape to his dreams.

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Hi. Happy New Year!Many thanks to people who reviewedthis story or 'a yule ball'. My new years resolution is to update this much more frequently... Sorry if this isn't very good,but chapter 4 should be better. (fingers crossed!) Anyway,hope you enjoy it and please let me know what you think!


	4. Concern for the student body

DISCLAIMER- the usual stuff applies

Severus Snape was, for a change, slumbering contentedly. That is, _he was,_ until a piercing scream rent the early morning air, causing him to sit up suddenly. Noting that the sound originated from the bed nearest his, he stumbled towards it, muttering the lumos charm as he went. He was nearly at the bed when a Harry, running to check up on its companion, ran straight into him.

'Oooof', Snape spluttered, as the Harry bounced off him and spiralled in the other direction.

'Mr P.... _whoever_ you are, go back to bed immediately. I shall deal with this.' At this icy command the Harry backed off slowly, still horrified at the thought of having actually _touched_ Snape.

Scowling, Snape magically pulled back the curtains of the student's bed and peered cautiously inside. Lying on his back, the Harry had one arm stuck up in the air as if begging for mercy, his face flushed and screwed up with the pain. Peering intently over the boy, wondering at the cause of his agony, Snape grasped the upheld wrist to check for a pulse. The older man gasped as waves of pain flowed out from the Harry, earthing themselves in his own body. Overcome, he blacked out, his last conscious memory that of falling forwards.

The following morning, Snape awoke to feel himself lying on a very unusually shaped bed. Lazily, not bothering to open his eyes, Snape ran his hands over the object beneath him, which appeared to be softer, yet more contoured than his usual bed. Stretching, he moved his pale hands upwards until they were level with his head. On its way upwards, his left hand had met an obstruction. Patting the area sleepily, he felt a hard ridge, followed by a very soft, moist area with a knobbly protrusion above it. Alarm bells began ringing, as part of his brain (the part that always used to shoot his hand into the air whenever a teacher asked a question) identified these things as _chin.._ _mouth.._ _nose... _

Snapping his eyes open, Snape felt a thrill of revulsion run through him as he saw Harry Potter's face two inches from his own. The boy was staring at the ceiling, a nauseous look on his face, wanting with every fibre of his body to run away, but trapped by his professor's long body. Horrified, Snape thought of obliviating the boy's memory. However, all of his plans flew out of the window when he heard a small giggle from his right, which soon turned into a maelstrom of chatter. Turning his head slowly, he saw that he had an audience of Harry's- all with slightly shocked looks on their faces.

'Oh, Merlin, this is bad', he thought, realising that there was no way he could obliviate an entire roomful of students and not be caught. What made his situation even more lamentable was the fact that he had neglected to remove his hand from Harry's face. He did so with the speed of light, however, when someone in the crowd whistled and said;

'Bloody hell, professor, if you really can't keep your hands off him then at least do it in private!'

The fact that he has fallen asleep on St Harry Potter, of all people, combined with being seen like this by a jeering crowd of yet more Potters, and his having been so stupid as to not have just opened the one curtain around the bed last night, made Severus Snape very, _very_ _angry_. Rising from the bed like an angry bear, he roared

'GET OUT!! ALL OF YOU, NOW!! ANYONE LEFT IN MY SIGHT IN 10 SECONDS WILL. LIVE. TO. REGRET. IT!!' To prove his point, he started blasting at the pillows on the other beds, creating a haze of feathers.

'AND STOP SMIRKING!!!' he added, as the students ran for their lives to the common room.

'Now, as for _you_....' Snape turned back to the boy on the bed, who was trying to disentangle himself from the covers and make a run for it.

'Not so fast', he smirked evilly, grabbing his wand from where it had fallen and crying 'VINCULA'. At his word, the sheets twisted themselves into ropes and bound the struggling Harry to the bed.

Thinking that he may as well make the most of a bad situation, Snape decided to torment the boy for a while. Standing on the edge of the bed so as to create a more authoritarian impression Snape looked down at the Harry and gave his most evil grin. Savouring the boy's fear and trepidation, he allowed a dramatic pause before he spoke.

Unfortunately, just before he could launch into his tirade, several of the more daring students came back into the dormitory, either to rescue their friend or laugh some more, he couldn't discern which. Upon seeing their greasy professor standing happily over a bound and obviously extremely frightened Harry, there was chaos. Snape was forced to block numerous hexes from some of the students who heroically came to the rescue (and some from those who just couldn't pass up the chance to curse a teacher). While he was defending himself, and stunning a few of them in return (with ill-suppressed glee) one Harry had snuck around the room and was freeing its companion. Not to be cheated of punishing the one responsible for this fiasco, Snape turned towards the liberator, shouting 'LEAVE HIM!'.

The two Harrys paused uncertainly, and would have perhaps capitulated if Snape had not been hit by the tarantallegra spell at that very moment. The pair ran for the safety of the bathroom as Snape's legs cavorted under him, giving the impression that a giant greasy bat was river-dancing on the bed. Fighting his own limbs for control, Snape clumsily hopped towards the bathroom in pursuit, his wand unreachable- having fallen onto the floor. The potions master reached the edge of the bed and made a mad leap for the floor, in his anger realising too late that the last thing his crazed legs could deal with was a 3-foot drop downwards. Arms windmilling during the descent, Snape managed to grab onto a curtain which slowed his fall to the extent that it would normally been painless, if he hadn't suffered what felt like 10 cruciatus curses at once during the night. Body aching, he raised his torso out of the dusty floor (the lower half was still jerking around uselessly) and looked upwards, noticing that the boy's nightstand was in front of him.

Meanwhile, in the bathroom, the real Harry and Hermione were having an anxious discussion.

'Mione, he was touching me! I'll never be able to sleep again!'

'Oh Harry, are you alright? I think Snape's lost it, he's been acting much stranger than usual.'

'He's going to kill me, I know it. You should have seen the look on his face! I'd much rather face Voldemort, at least it'd stop these ruddy dreams I've been having', Harry muttered disconsolately.

'Here, Harry, let me fix your eyesight for the time being, that way Snape won't be able to tell you apart from us. The eyesight charm doesn't work permanently, ever since the trials they did in the 60's showed that...' Hermione continued, her eyes bright.

Harry would have paused to marvel at how strange it was to see himself look so eager about school-related matters if he hadn't woken up to find Snape sprawled on top of him that morning. After _that_, everything seemed normal.

'So that's how he's been finding me!' he mused.

Shaking her/his head, Hermione performed the charm and the two of them plotted an inconspicuous exit from the bathroom.

On the other side of the door, Snape was grabbing the nightstand and hauling himself up. Having done so, he noticed that a pair of glasses was lying on top.

Overjoyed at at least knowing for certain _who_ the culprit was, Snape felt like dancing, until he realised that -technically- he already was.

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To be continued! As usual, tell me what you think. Sorry its so short, I have a huge amount of work to do at the moment. Thank you very much to everyone who reviewed, particularly Shadowed-Hand (to your last review: yeah, I had the same idea too!) and Grey Grim (thanks for pointing out the grammatical problem, I think it must have just been a typo. P.S. I elected to use 'Harrys' because 'Harries' seemed a bit strange for some reason!). Also, look out for a new snarry fic that i'm going to write very soon, which will be more of a romance story. I wouldn't normally plug my own work or anything, but I've actually planned this one so I'm quite excited!


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